Buffy and Erik
by ryanalicia
Summary: Wacky BtVS and POTO high school crossover fic (yes, high school) with non-slayer Buffy and a slightly less tortured young Erik. Probably generic enough for non-BtVS fans if you're in the mood for an 'Erik gets the cheerleader' fic. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Buffy and Erik

By ryanalicia

CHAPTER ONE

Buffy checked her hair in the mirror one last time. It was the first day of her senior year, and she was determined to live it to the fullest – cheering, activities, clubs, dances, prom, being prom queen – everything. She smiled as she noted how she'd left classes off her list. Classes weren't really her thing. But she just had to do well enough to get into the local college. She had no idea what she'd major in, but she wasn't worried about that. Time enough to worry about that once she'd been accepted.

With a toss of her head, she grabbed her backpack off the bed and headed downstairs to her car. It was a small Mercedes convertible that her Dad had bought for her when she turned sixteen. That had assuaged his guilt for about a year – guilt over cheating on her mom and leaving them when she was just six.

It worked, too. Every time she looked at the car, she felt fonder of him. Not enough to forgive him, but fonder.

Back in familiar territory, Buffy greeted everyone she knew out in front of the school. They stood around under trees or around picnic tables waiting for the first bell to ring. It was mostly the freshmen she didn't recognize. She knew pretty much everyone else.

She was just getting her English book out of her locker as the first bell rang. Her friend Amy ran up beside her and grabbed her arm.

"Buffy!" she cried. "How are you? I haven't seen you since Paris!"

Buffy had finally persuaded her parents to let her spend a month with Amy at her parents' house in Paris over the summer. It was great, but the truth was that a month was a long time to be cooped up with Amy. She was fun, but she never stopped talking. By the end of the month Buffy had been exhausted.

"Amy, it's good to see you," she said. "Yeah, Paris was great. You'll have to thank your parents again for me."

Amy waved her hand, clearly dismissing the thought. "What's your first class?" she asked. "Mine's English with Ms. Hardaway. I can't believe I drew the hardest teacher."

Buffy nodded. "Same here."

"Well, come on," Amy said. "We can't be late on the first day."

Buffy followed behind, admiring Amy's tan and her long legs. Not for the first time, she wished she weren't so short.

The room was almost completely full when she and Amy entered, but there were seats open at the back, which was where she preferred to sit. Amy took the seat in front of her and turned to plop her book onto the desk.

When Buffy sat down, she looked around to see who else had drawn the short straw for their English section. As her eyes got to the desk next to her, she paused. Hunched over the desk, seemingly studiously reading, was someone she didn't know. And he was cute. Dark hair, smooth skin, and a nice looking bod. She vowed to meet him before she left for the day.

To her disappointment, Ms. Hardaway didn't introduce him; she just conducted class as usual, assigning them an ungodly amount of reading for the next day and peppering the class with questions.

Relieved when the bell rang, Buffy stood up and looked over again at the new boy. This time, she couldn't contain a gasp. He wore a mask. And it was obvious why. The mask covered half of his face, but not the scars and ridges that were visible above his ear and onto the side of his head.

Her first thought was that it was gross, but her second thought was that it was a tragedy. From one side – so perfect, from the other – so hideous. Dear god, how would he get through a year in this high school?

She didn't have to look around to know that others had noticed, too. She heard conversations stop and a few muttered curses. People sped up their departures and made for the door.

For some reason, she stood looking at him. He finally turned to her, and she noticed he had beautiful blue eyes. Her pity for him only increased.

As if seeing it on her face, he abruptly turned and, gathering his things, went out into the hall.

At lunch, she sat at the table with her usual group of friends – all of them wealthy, all of them beautiful. For an instant she thought about all she took for granted. Then she looked around for him.

"Buffy, what are you doing? Aren't you going to sit down?"

This was Julia. Her parents were both doctors, so she never saw them, and she'd decided she was going to major in marketing.

"Yeah," Buffy responded. "Sorry. I just spaced for a minute."

"Well, at least you haven't changed over the summer," said another of her friends. One who didn't really deserve the title but with whom she had little choice but to socialize with because they moved in the same circles. But as far as she was concerned, Alissa Parker was just a first rate bitch.

"Same to you, Alissa," she responded, setting down her tray beside Amy. At least her chatter would drown out anything else Alissa might have to say.

It wasn't until they were on their way out and walking around the courtyard back to their lockers that she saw him. He was sitting on a bench between two trees reading a book.

"God," Alissa said. "Have you seen that thing?" She pointed at him. "He's in my third period bio class. I swear I couldn't stop staring at him the whole time. Have you ever seen anything so hideous?"

Buffy was suddenly ashamed that she'd had the same thought, though it was hard not to at first sight.

She was swapping books out of her locker when she saw him coming down the hall. She wondered if they'd have any afternoon classes together. And then she wondered why she was so curious about him. Was it just morbid fascination?

"Jesus," said a voice she recognized. Davis, one of the stars of the football team. He'd been trying to get into her pants off and on for the last two years. He'd also dated Amy off and on, because Amy seemed willing to ignore that he flirted with every girl in school. And most of them were flattered. Davis was popular and insanely good looking. It was possible he had better hair than she did – dark and wavy and just a little too long.

She knew without turning around that he'd just seen the new boy.

"What the fuck are you?" he asked, loudly.

Buffy turned, not wanting to see, but feeling unable to look away.

The new kid didn't answer, just tried to continue down the hall.

Davis grabbed him by the arm. "God, I don't even want to touch you, but I asked you a question. What the fuck is wrong with your face?"

"You've got eyes, don't you?" the boy sniped.

"Well," Davis asked. "Were you in some sort of industrial accident or did your mother just make it with a wild boar?"

"She says she must have fucked the devil," he responded.

Buffy wondered if that was true.

"Devil boy, huh?" Davis asked. "So what's under the mask?"

The boy hunched in on himself. Davis was still holding his arm.

"Just more of the same," he answered.

Davis stared at him. "I don't think I believe you."

He reached for the side of the boy's face, and Buffy knew he was going to rip the mask off.

"Davis," she called out. "Have you really resorted to picking on the deformed?"

"Just trying to find out about the new kid, Buffy."

She stepped closer, coming to the boy's side. "Leave him alone, Davis. No one thinks this is cool." She knew she might be wrong about that, but she didn't care. Davis would worry about it.

She knew she was right when he dropped the boy's arm. "Doing charity work now, Buffy? Still the good girl?"

"Too good for you."

There were some snickers from those who were looking on, and Davis looked around, suddenly nervous.

He shook his head and pushed his way past both of them. "I hope you two are very happy together, then," he called back.

Buffy turned to look at the boy beside her. She was facing his mask. When he didn't turn to look at her she felt a jolt of anger. He could at least say thank you.

When he finally did turn to look at her, she was surprised to see anger in his eyes as well. Far from the gratitude she was expecting.

"Well, have a nice day," she said, stalking back to her locker. Screw him, she thought.

She was in her last class of the day, staring out the window into the parking lot when it happened. One minute it was a calm end-of-summer day with Mr. Helger droning on about the properties of elements, and the next there was a fireball.

Buffy felt her jaw drop as she watched the flames and dark smoke rise into the air. Everyone else, Mr. Helger included, came to the window for a better view.

"What was it?" somebody called out.

Buffy swallowed. "Davis Rogers' car" . Apparently the new kid didn't need her help after all.

All during cheer practice, Buffy found her thoughts returning to the strange new kid. What made him tick? She wondered. What kind of life had he had and how on earth had he suddenly wound up at their school? She thought, if his parents had any sympathy for him at all, they would have had him home-schooled.

When the last routine was done, she was wiping the sweat from her brow when she saw him. He was almost invisible standing underneath the bleachers, but she swore she could make out his blue eyes. Suddenly she knew he'd been there the entire time, watching them. She wondered if he was watching her. And why that didn't give her the creeps.

The next day she walked down the aisle between their seats to get to her desk. When she passed him, she dropped her folded note onto the book he had open in front of him.

He looked up sharply at her, then down at the note.

She sat down and watched him out of the corner of her eye as he read it. She was inordinately happy when she saw the corners of his mouth turn up.

It had only been two words – nice job – but they had made him smile, and she was glad.

Erik spent the rest of the hour glancing sideways at the girl to his left all the while trying to look like he was paying attention to the stout Ms. Hardaway. She'd done something he'd thought impossible. She'd reached out to him – twice now. But people didn't willingly have anything to do with him. It was one of the norms that ruled his life. Why should this girl be any different?

He hated himself for the hope that flared in him. Hope for what? That this girl would see him as something other than his deformity? He gave a silent laugh. If she felt anything for him it was pity. But even that…even that he'd had precious little of in his life. No one pitied what they feared, and they feared his face.

But she'd done the most innocuous thing. She'd passed him a note. Whatever she felt, she wasn't afraid of him.

He wanted to smile, but realized he'd almost forgotten how. A golden sprite of a girl had passed him a note. He looked away before his imagination could make her into an angel come to save him. He wasn't destined for such things. He knew life could hold no happy endings for him. If he could only manage to exist, that would be enough. He just had to make it through the year. He didn't know if things would get better after that, but they couldn't get worse. At least he'd be on his own, no longer owned by the orphanage. The orphanage where finally they couldn't find a tutor who would even attempt to teach someone who looked like him and so they'd given up and sent him to public school. To this school, where the girls carried purses that cost more than the orphanage paid to feed and clothe him for a year. No, there would be no happy endings in this place. No happy moments, even. But then he remembered…he'd already had one.

He picked up her note and read it again with one part wonder that she'd written it and another part laughter as he realized his golden sprite had a vengeful streak.

It was Friday. Buffy experienced the typical relief, but also a little sadness. Her mother was leaving today for a four-day art buying trip to New York. Buffy knew it was necessary for her to have only the trendiest things in her gallery, but they were close, and Buffy was already missing her. Unlike most of her other friends who had chefs, they only had a lady who came in to do cleaning. She and her mother had breakfast and dinner together every day. It was part of their routine.

She looked absent-mindedly over at the new boy when Ms. Hardaway turned her back to write on the board. She hadn't seen him smile since her note. That made her sad as well.

She was turning her pencil over and over in her hand when she heard Ms. Hardaway call on someone named Erik. To her surprise, the boy next to her looked up and answered.

And did he ever answer. He gave an eloquent discourse on the use of light and dark imagery in the novel _Moby Dick_. Even Ms. Hardaway looked like she was learning a thing or two.

She saw him glance around when he stopped talking, taking in the stunned faces. "What?" he asked. "Just because I have this face doesn't mean I'm retarded."

"That's 'mentally challenged'," someone quipped from up front.

She saw Erik clench his hands into fists. "You should know," he retorted.

"That'll be quite enough of that," Ms. Hardaway said, quick to intervene. Mr. March, thank you for that very insightful answer."

Buffy saw his shoulders sag with relief as the staring faces turned away.

Well, now she at least knew his name, she realized. Erik March. And she knew he was smart, but something had already told her that. She liked smart guys. Not that they liked her. Or at least she didn't know if they did. She didn't exactly live in the same cliques as the honor students.

She turned her head back toward Ms. Hardaway and shivered. She was soooo not thinking of him like that.

So she couldn't explain why, at the end of class, she was writing another note. She put it down to pity. She didn't want to be lonely this weekend, and she figured he didn't either. The question was – how to get him to agree? She had the feeling he didn't socialize often or willingly. She sighed, but then a devious plan crept into her mind, bringing a smile to her face. Mask or no mask, he was still a seventeen year old boy. She ducked her head and began to write.

_Erik,_

_Want to come to my house tomorrow for a swim? We could maybe order pizza and watch a movie after? It would just be the two of us._

_-Buffy_

She quietly ripped the sheet of paper from her notebook and folded it in two. If the image of her in a bikini didn't get him to her house, nothing would.

As soon as Ms. Hardaway's back was next turned, she leaned over and tossed the note onto Erik's desk.

He read the note three times, feeling his anger swell at each pass. Anger at her for this stunt and anger at himself for having allowed the slightest hope that she might be different.

He studiously didn't look at her for the rest of the period, but when the bell rang, he waited for her to stand and then grabbed her arm, jerking her as close to him as the desk would allow.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Her eyes went wide. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play with me." He waved the note at her. "What's your real idea, huh? Get me over there and a group of your friends plan to laugh at me, maybe throw me in the pool, maybe jerk my mask off? Does any of that sound familiar?"

She looked down at where his hand was clenched around her upper arm. "First, you need to let go of me."

He followed her gaze and then did as she asked. He wondered if he had hurt her, but then decided he didn't care.

"Second, you should have a little more faith. I'm not that kind of person. I just wanted to get to know you."

"No one wants to get to know me."

"I do."

He fought with the urge to believe her, but ultimately the slim ray of hope won out. "Why?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Damned if I know. But if you come, you should leave your temper at home."

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'm not used to people being nice to me."

All around them students were getting up and gathering their things. He could feel a couple of stares begin to land on them. He didn't want to embarrass her by being seen talking to her, so he handed her back the note.

"Give me your address," he said, putting his terror aside for a mere moment.

She wrote her address on the back and returned it to him. "About four o'clock?"

He just nodded and turned away from her before leaving the room.

The rest of the day he spent in a daze contemplating the morning's turn of events. He knew it was nearly impossible that her note meant only what it said. But what if it did? No, how could it? How could a girl like that even bear to look at him, much less – what had she said – want to get to know him? She was so far above him, he was surprised he was even allowed to look at her.

Then he sighed and returned to the image that beckoned to him – Buffy half-naked and dripping wet. It made his whole body tingle, and he knew that, whatever the consequences, he was going to risk it.

The orphanage where he'd lived for the last thirteen years was a large, white Victorian house that some generous member of the next-door Baptist church had long ago donated for the purpose. As he was one of the oldest residents, he had his own room on the top floor. The younger kids shared rooms on the bottom three floors.

The porch had carved white railings and a gray painted floor. He crossed it with his mind twisted in a thousand directions.

Inside, the first place he went was the kitchen. Ms. Grayson stood in front of the double sink cutting carrots. She turned when he came in and smiled at him. She was the only one in the whole place who smiled at him, but, even still, he was reluctant to ask for a favor.

"Erik," she said. "You want a snack?"

He shook his head. "I…I need to ask you something."

She stopped slicing. "What do you need?"

"I need some new clothes." Most of everything he wore had been donated or was bought for him last Christmas with donated funds.

"You know we don't have the budget for school clothes. I wish we did, but we just don't."

He shook his head. "I've been saving the money the church pays me for playing for them. I think I have enough. I just…well, I don't want to go out to get them myself. I don't think I can bear a mall."

"Well, in that case, just give me your sizes. Is there anything in particular?"

"Just some new jeans and shoes. And..well, I need them before tomorrow afternoon."

She cocked her head at him. "What's the occasion?"

He shuffled from one foot to the other. Ms. Grayson was the only person he'd dare to tell something like this, but he wasn't used to sharing. But she had a right to know, he supposed. "A girl invited me over."

Her eyebrows shot up, but then she beamed a big smile at him. "Erik, how wonderful!"

"I can't imagine how it will be, but, well, she's not the kind of girl who wears old clothes."

Ms. Grayson's eyes went wide again. "Then don't you worry," she said. "I'll hit the shops first thing in the morning, and I'll be here by the time you get done playing for choir practice."

He felt his shoulders relax. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, dear."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

After yesterday's confrontation, Buffy wasn't sure what to expect when she opened the door.

"Hi, Buffy," he said. He seemed a world away from the menacing monster he'd appeared to her yesterday. Now he just looked like a nervous boy. She noticed him trying to look around the living room, and she wondered if he was looking for some sort of mean practical joke.

"Hi," she said. "Want to come in?"

She saw him check her out and was unreasonably pleased. She'd debated what to wear and decided to go ahead and put on her bikini with just a thin, white wrap over it. The wrap covered her to about mid-thigh, and she felt his blue gaze rake her legs.

He stepped past her into the large room and continued to look around. "Your home is very nice," he said, sounding like he was trying to impress her parents or something.

She noticed that his clothes looked nicer than what he'd been wearing all week. He had on the same sort of white oxford shirt she'd come to think of as sort of a uniform for him, but today his jeans were black and he wore new, black leather loafers. He looked nice, she thought.

"Come on," she said, moving to take the lead. "The pool's out back."

He followed silently, and she turned and saw him squinting as they emerged into the sunlight. She headed for a lounge chair and turned her back to him to shrug off her wrap. She'd worn her favorite red bikini for the occasion. It was simple, but it showed her tan and her figure off nicely. It made her feel beautiful.

She made her way to the shallow end without looking at him and sat on the edge, just dipping her toes in and out of the water.

When she looked up at him, he'd taken his shoes off and was standing barefoot on the concrete, but was still fully clothed. Then, as she watched, he began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Buffy knew she should probably look away, and she wondered if he'd be embarrassed if she didn't. But then his shirt was off and she realized he had nothing to be embarrassed about. His skin was marble-white, but he was lean and muscular in a very appealing way. She felt herself begin to blush as she watched him take off his jeans.

He just wore blue checked boxers underneath and after he'd stood before her for a moment, he walked to the other end of the pool and slid into the water.

Erik was glad of the limited cover the water provided. He didn't want Buffy to know how just a simple glance from her had affected him. It was just the thought that, for a moment, she'd looked at him as any girl might look at any boy – at a boy she liked even. But that couldn't be right. His mask was a constant reminder that he wasn't like other people. He wasn't a boy girls could like.

Part of him wanted to stay where he was and just imagine that she'd looked at him as if he meant something. But another part of him wanted to be closer to her, and that part soon won out. He swam toward the shallower end of the pool, careful not to let his mask get wet.

Buffy smiled as he got closer. "They do make things called spray tans now, you know."

He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"You're white as a ghost. Do you never go outside?"

So, he thought, that had been what was in her head. She just thought him even more odd now than before.

He answered her nevertheless. "I read a lot," he said. "And I play the piano. Not much else."

He took advantage of the pause in conversation to look at her. She was indeed a golden sprite – golden skin, golden hair, big green eyes. He looked deep into them, seeking the revulsion he was so accustomed to. He couldn't find it, and he chided himself. She was just a good actress trying hard not to hurt his feelings. In spite of knowing it was fake, he appreciated the effort. But he couldn't allow himself to believe. No, if he did that…

"What do you play?" she asked. "What sorts of stuff?"

He shrugged. "Pretty much everything. I make a little money playing for the church next door, but if I hear anything I can play it."

Buffy gave a one-sided smile. "It must be really nice to have a talent like that. I can't do anything special."

He gulped down the cynical response that girls who looked like her didn't have to do anything special. Her life would always be good.

She looked up at him suddenly. "Next door to where?" she asked.

"What?"

"You said 'the church next door'. Next door to what? Where do you live?"

He sighed. "At the orphanage over on the east side of town, near the river glen neighborhood."

"Orphanage?"

She sounded horrified.

He just nodded.

"How long have you been there?"

"My mother took me there when I was four."

"She just gave you up?"

He nodded. "My face…it was a problem for her."

"Oh my god. That's terrible."

He didn't know why he did it, except that she was bound to see it eventually as they were mostly naked in front of each other.

When he turned around, he heard her gasp and knew she'd seen the scars. "My father couldn't stand knowing that he'd made something like me. He used to beat me out of sheer hate. My mother didn't love me I don't think, but she didn't hate me. She took me to the orphanage as her best option. I've never seen either of them since."

"You know you're going to get a terrible sunburn out here," she said.

He turned around, surprised at the change of subject. "Probably," he said. "I wouldn't know – what with my limited exposure to the out of doors."

Buffy laughed and stood up. "Come with me," she said, turning and walking toward the lounge chairs.

He went up the stairs in the shallow end and came to stand behind her. She handed him a towel. "Here," she said. "Dry off a little bit."

He obediently ran the towel over his torso and upper arms. She stuck out her hand and he gave it back to her. Then she grabbed a bottle of sunblock from a small glass table and held it up.

"Stick out your hand," she ordered.

He complied, a little bemused by her façade of concern for his welfare.

She squirted a blob of the white cream into his hand. "Do your front," she said.

He shrugged and smeared the cream between his hands and then onto his chest, shoulders, and arms.

"Happy?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Turn around."

He sucked in a breath at the possibility of what she intended, and his feet were slow to obey his command.

He first felt the towel on his skin, but it was quickly followed by her lotion-slicked hand. There wasn't anything sensual about it; she was almost professional in her strokes. But it was easily the most intimate thing he'd ever experienced, and he closed his eyes and leaned slightly back into her touch.

Then he felt her slow her motions. They became more caress-like, and he imagined she was touching him because she wanted to, because she liked the way he felt under her fingers.

"I think that's probably enough," he said, shaking himself out of his fantasy.

"Oh," she said. "Sure. You're probably right."

"So, where are your parents?" he asked, coming out with the first thing to pop into his head. He needed something to give him a minute so he could turn around without offending her. "I didn't think when you said it would be just the two of us that it would be well…really just the two of us."

"My dad doesn't live here," she said. "He and Mom are divorced, and she's in New York on a buying trip. She owns the art gallery downtown."

"So why aren't you with your friends?" he asked, turning around. "Why did you invite me here?"

She shrugged. "If you want the truth, I don't really know. If any of my friends knew I was hanging out with you, they'd probably kill themselves laughing. Or either die of shock. Come on," she said. "Let's get back in."

He followed her down the steps, watching as she turned around on the last one and pushed off into the water, facing him.

He pushed off after her, his greater force bringing his face suddenly close to hers. He thought he might explode when all she did was smile at him. And then he realized that her body was underneath his – separated by a foot of water, it was true – but the thought still nearly made him groan. Why had he agreed to come here? It was only going to be an agonizing demonstration of all he could never have.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "You look like somebody kicked your puppy."

He couldn't help but laugh. "You have quite the way with words."

She grimaced. "I wish my teachers thought so. I never get any credit for my wrong, but creatively worded, answers."

He backed up, but laughed again, trying to remember the last time he had really laughed. No examples came to mind.

"But you must be pretty smart, huh? You certainly showed Ms. Grayson yesterday."

"I told you I read a lot. Doesn't make me a genius or anything. I'm as stumped by calculus as you."

Buffy gave a snort of laughter. "I very much doubt that."

"So what do you want to do next year – after high school?"

She shrugged. "Not exactly clear on that. Probably just figure something out after I get into Sunnydale U." She frowned. "What about you?"

"I want to be an architect."

"Oh," she said, smiling at him again, "that's cool."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I could go into sales."

"That's funny."

"It's true."

"You could sell masks. You'd be a rage at Halloween."

He could feel his eyes get wide. Had he ever joked about his deformity before? He wondered why it didn't hurt. Maybe it was because a beautiful girl was smiling up at him like his face didn't matter.

"Oh, I'm a rage all the time," he said. "Little children are scared of me on the street."

"Are you being serious?"

He nodded. "People can't help it. They just react."

"That must really suck."

He laughed. "Again, your mastery of the English language rises to the occasion."

"I'm sorry," she said, her smile disappearing. "I shouldn't joke. It must really be very hard for you. I can't even imagine what your life must be like."

"It's okay," he said. "For your jokes, I'll make a special exception."

That brought her smile back, and he congratulated himself on saying the right thing for once.

"You want to talk about something else?" she asked.

"That would be nice."

"Well?"

"Well what?" he asked, confused.

"I brought up the last thing. Now it's your turn. That's how this conversation thing works."

He laughed again. "I must be a little rusty." He looked at her for a moment. "Okay, so how come you aren't dating anyone?" A horrifying thought struck him. "Or are you?"

"Nope," she said. "Delightfully unattached. I was sort of dating this guy on the basketball team last year, but he was a senior and now he's off at school."

"No long distance relationship?"

She shook her head. "It wasn't exactly one of the world's great romances. We liked each other a lot, and it was convenient because all our friends were either friends or were dating each other."

"Sounds…functional."

She laughed. "Oh, it was. But then it had served its purpose. We saw each other a few times over the summer, but it basically just died a natural death."

"So you're free to associate with the deformed kid."

She frowned. "I'm free to associate with whoever I like."

"Whomever."

"What?"

"It's 'whomever', not 'whoever'."

She looked at him and rolled her eyes. "Um…missing the point much?"

He couldn't help but smile. The way she talked was just freaking adorable. In answer, he just shrugged and pushed off the bottom of the pool, putting a little more distance between them.

This time, she followed him – not too close, but it thrilled him nonetheless that she didn't seem afraid to be near him. His mind threatened to wander back to the sensation of her hands on his back, but he cut off that train of thought before it overcame him completely.

"So do you have any friends?" she asked, matter of fact.

"What do you think, Buffy? People aren't exactly lining up to talk to me. You see the way people at school treat me."

"They don't really treat you any way at all, now that the shock's worn off. They just pretend they don't see you."

"I suppose it's easier that way. It's certainly easier for me. Better than being pointed at."

She giggled. "If you came to school with your shirt off, they'd be pointing again."

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "Because then I'd look like a ghost instead of a monster. That's real funny, Buffy."

"That's not what I meant," she said.

He waited for her to explain, but no explanation came.

"Where have you been before this year?" she asked. "How come you've never been in school before?"

"I've always had tutors before – mostly substitute teachers who wanted a little extra cash. This year they couldn't find anyone who knew anything about the advanced subjects – not anyone who was willing to tolerate my face anyway. So I had no choice."

She was silent for a long moment. "Well, I'm glad you're here."

He felt his heart clench and then he threw up a wall against any feeling. He couldn't afford to let a girl like her inside – an angel with the power to kill him. He'd never willingly leave himself open to rejection, certainly not from her.

"So what kind of a name is Buffy, anyway?" he asked.

She gave a playful pout that affected him in a very naughty way. "That's not very gentlemanly – making fun of a girl's name. It's the name my mother gave me. There's no big mystery behind it."

"Well, you could have been named for a saint or something for all I know."

She laughed. "Saint Buffy?"

He smiled back at her. "Yeah, of course. Patron saint of people who garble the English language."

"That joke's getting really old," she teased.

"I don't think so. I think I'm just getting started."

"Careful," she said. "I might not let you have any pizza later."

"Ouch," he said, putting both hands over his heart. "You wound me."

"You know, after yesterday, I wasn't really expecting you to have a sense of humor."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I have temper issues. Usually it's deserved."

"Apology accepted. Are you also a pyromaniac or was Davis' car just a one-off?"

He smiled at her. "Just a moment of inspiration. I'm pretty good with things mechanical. I don't set fires or anything. And I figured a new car wouldn't set him back too badly."

"No, it won't. You can be sure he won't forget about you, though."

"Well, at least it'll give me some breathing space. He won't try anything for a while."

"It must be terrible to have to be on your guard against assholes all the time."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked. "That it's really not so bad? That I'm used to it? I'm sorry – I can't say any of those things. My face is a constant attraction for everything that's bad in other people. Everybody is an asshole; some are just worse than others."

"You're alone with me in my pool on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and we are having a perfectly nice conversation. I expect you to take that back."

"I still can't figure out why you invited me here."

"Well, it wasn't for anything nefarious. You must believe that by now."

He looked around. "Yeah, I guess so."

"There aren't any bogeymen, Erik. No one's going to jump out at you."

She swam over to him, and he fought the urge to move back as she put her hands on his chest. "If anyone was watching, I certainly wouldn't be doing this." She looked down at her hands to make her point.

He immediately appreciated the double-edged nature of what she'd said. She was trying to reassure him, but at the same time she'd acknowledged that she'd never be seen close to him in public.

"I'm your dirty little secret then."

She pulled her hands back, wincing. "That wasn't what I meant."

"But it's true." He took a deep breath. "It's okay, Buffy. I get how things are." He shook his head. "I mean, I still don't get this." He gestured to encompass the two of them and the pool. "But I get that I'm unacceptable company in public."

"Can we not talk about the public?" she asked. "There's no public here now."

He breathed a sigh, relieved. "That's fine with me," he replied.

"I'm going to get out and get some sun."

He nodded and watched the water sheet off her curvaceous body as she slowly climbed up the shallow steps. After laying out a towel, she positioned herself and put on a pair of sunglasses, turning her head to look up at the sky.

Even though he wanted nothing more, he knew he couldn't just stand there looking at her. So he pretended to swim laps – breast stroke and side stroke, ones that wouldn't get the mask wet. All the while he looked at her, taking in a vision he fully expected never to see again. Whatever the reason she'd invited him here, he was sure it wouldn't happen again. And he was determined to remember this moment in its every detail. It was as close to normal as he'd ever felt. Maybe as close to happy as he'd ever felt. All because this girl was being modestly friendly to him.

But then he took it back, knowing he was doing her an injustice. He didn't know how she was managing it, but she wasn't just being modestly friendly. She was being truly friendly. If he gave reign to what his hopes told him, he'd go so far as to say she'd flirted with him once or twice. But he knew he must be mistaken. That was why he had to keep his hopes on a leash. They'd ultimately just crush him.

Buffy kept her head turned up but used the sunglasses to hide the fact that she was watching him. Watching him watching her. She wasn't sure why it made her feel so good. Most boys would have been doing the same. She knew she was pretty. But he looked at her as if she were something special. And she enjoyed watching the water ripple around the flexing muscles of his shoulders and chest. When had that become the focus instead of the mask? And what exactly was she doing? It didn't take her long to decide that it didn't matter that she didn't know. She was having fun; she was pretty sure he was having fun. That was all that mattered for today.

After a while, he got out of the pool and came to sit beside her. Buffy rolled over onto her stomach, but held herself up on her elbows to look at him. The normal side of his face was toward her, and she studied it closely. High cheekbones, perfect lips, and smooth skin any girl would kill for.

"You know," she said, "I don't think people would find you nearly so startling if the other side of your face weren't so perfect. You know what I mean? If you were ugly on both sides you'd just be ugly and not such an anomaly."

He turned to look at her. "I'm not sure how to go about decoding all the compliments and insults you just managed to wrap up in those few sentences."

She frowned at him. "Uh…I'm not that deep. You pretty much have to just take everything I say at face value."

He laughed out loud, and the sound started a little shiver down her spine. He had such a nice voice, deep for a teenaged boy.

"You hungry yet?" she asked.

"Sure," he said. "You ready to go inside?"

She turned and sat up, grabbing her wrap from the back of her chair. "Yeah, let's go get changed."

He grabbed his clothes, and Buffy showed him to the downstairs bathroom.

Upstairs, she stood uncertain in front of her closet. What would he like? And why did she care? She decided it was just in a girl's nature to care. Rushing herself along, she dragged out a pale green sundress. She touched up her makeup and finally went downstairs.

Erik waited by the bottom of the stairs because he wasn't sure where else to go, so the first thing he saw were dainty feet with bubble gum colored toenails. The rest of her smooth, shapely legs followed, covered at thigh-level by the hem of a thin, green dress. The dress ended in tiny straps along her shoulders, and she ran a hand through her hair as she approached, making him long to do the same.

"You look nice," he said, hoping it was okay.

She looked down at herself. "Thanks. I was hoping you'd like it."

"Nobody wouldn't like it," he said.

She smiled up at him. "You're too sweet."

"I don't think I've ever been described that way before."

"Well, now you have. Get over it. You think I'm going to stand here and compliment you all night?"

He felt his mouth drop open.

She laughed. "You've really got to learn to take a joke, Erik."

He let out a deep breath. "Also not something I've had a lot of experience at."

"Come on," she said, taking his hand. "We've got pizza menus in the kitchen."

It was the lightest of touches, but Erik couldn't take his eyes off their locked hands. Buffy had willingly touched him – for the third time! If she knew what that did to him… But no, that was just the kind of person she was. She was just being friendly.

Then again, when had he ever had a friend before?

This tiny girl had him on a tightrope, and he constantly felt like he was losing his balance.

She dropped his hand when they crossed from the carpeted living room into the tiled kitchen. He wrapped that hand in his other one to make up for her lost warmth.

Standing at the edge of the counter, he watched her cross the room and rummage through a drawer, finally coming up with a brochure with a picture of a pizza on the front.

"Got it," she called out, turning back to face him. "Now what do you like?"

"Whatever you want is fine," he said.

"Well, I'm partial to just cheese. I figured you might want something besides that. We can go halfsies."

"Okay. Just make my half pepperoni."

She reached over, grabbed the phone receiver out of its cradle, and quickly called in their order, giving a credit card number out of her head.

"Thirty minutes," she said when she hung up. "What do you want to do in the meantime?"

A thousand inappropriate thoughts raced through his brain, and he felt himself starting to blush. "Uh..how about a tour?" he asked, blurting out the first acceptable thing he could think of.

"Oh, sure." She turned around in a circle, smiling at him. "Erik, meet the kitchen."

He marveled that she'd made him laugh again. "I think I've got that," he said. "Let's see the rest of the palace."

"Ooh. Does that make me a princess?" Her big green eyes looked eagerly up at him.

"Princess Buffy. I don't see why not."

"I think I could get used to you addressing me as 'your majesty' while you're here. Want to give it a go?"

He snorted. "You wish."

She shrugged. "Oh well. All a girl can do is try."

"Oh, I don't know," he said. "You could pout and bat your eyes at me."

"Would it work?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nope. I'm totally immune."

She cocked a brow at him. "Now there's a challenge if I ever heard one."

Were they flirting? The thought struck him with such confusing force that he almost asked the question out loud. He felt his heart rate speed up. He had to be wrong.

She walked around him, and he followed her across the living room and down a hall.

"My Mom's room is all that's on the other end on this floor." She slid open a pocket door. "On this side are the game room and the big dining room."

He stuck his head in the door she'd opened. It was a huge room with a sofa facing a gigantic tv, and behind that were a pool table and a ping-pong table. It had windows that faced out onto the pool.

She crossed the hall and pulled another door open. "Dining room," she said, gesturing for him to look inside. A big, dark table with seats for twelve took up most of the center of the room. At one end was a large fireplace, and at the other end sat a grand piano, encircled by a few plush chairs.

"Want me to play something for you?" he asked, turning to her.

"Oh, sure."

He walked into the room with Buffy following close behind.

"What would you like to hear?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything about music. That's my mom's department. You should play for her sometime. She used to be a singer, you know – before she met my dad. She has a really nice voice."

Had she really just contemplated letting him meet her mom? He quickly decided it was just a slip of the tongue.

Taking a deep breath, he began to play. About halfway through the piece, he almost lost his place when he felt Buffy lay a hand on his shoulder.

He let his hands hover a moment over the keys when he finished.

"That was beautiful," she said, removing her hand. "What was it?"

"Just something I wrote."

"You write your own music?"

He nodded. "Even I get tired of reading."

"Why don't you want to go to music school?"

He spun around on the piano bench to face her. "I don't know. I love music, and I don't want it to ever feel like work."

"But don't you play now for money?"

"Only out of pure necessity."

She tilted her head. "You're a very interesting person. You must think I'm a complete dope."

"What? No, of course not."

"Why not? I'm just a cheerleader who's an average student with no talent and no goals for the future."

He stood up and grabbed her upper arms. "Don't say things like that."

She sighed and looked up at him. "Why not? It's totally true."

"None of that is true," he insisted. Then he smiled at her. "You're a princess, remember?"

She laughed. "Only in my own mind. Come on, I'll show you the rest of the house."

He followed, relieved that the moment had passed. He never wanted to see her unhappy.

There were four guest rooms upstairs, all furnished in bland, but he was certain were tasteful, colors. And then there was Buffy's room. A pale pink canopy bed took up most of the floor space, and what wasn't covered by the bed was covered by piles of clothes. Both her closet doors stood wide open, and the mess was reflected back by the mirror over her white dresser.

"So now you know my dirty little secret," she said.

"You're a total slob?"

She snickered. "Something like that."

The ringing doorbell echoed through the hallway on what he figured must be an intercom system.

"Pizza's here!" she called out, already halfway back to the stairs.

She took them two at the time back to the first floor and had the pizza firmly in hand by the time he joined her.

She nodded toward the kitchen. "There are sodas in the fridge. Grab two, would you? We can eat in the rec room."

He diligently collected the two soda cans and then also grabbed a couple of paper towels before turning to see her flouncing into the room she'd showed him earlier.

When he entered, she had the pizza box open on the coffee table and was taking her first bite.

"It's generally considered polite to wait for your guests," he said lightly.

"How the hell would you know?" she asked, swallowing her bite of pizza. "Since when do you have guests?"

"That was low," he said, coming to sit on the other end of the sofa from her, the pizza box between them. As she took another bite, she leaned back into the cushions and put her feet up onto the coffee table next to the lid of the pizza box.

"Nice," he said. "Does your mother let you put your feet on the table while she's eating?"

"You're very much not my mother," Buffy retorted. "Just go with it. Put your feet up and eat pizza."

He grabbed a slice and took up a mirror position to hers, slipping his shoes off and putting his bare feet on the table.

"Wow, you have nice guy feet."

"What?" He could feel his eyebrows reaching for the sky as he turned to look at her.

"Most guys have ugly feet," she said. "Not you, though. Figures."

"Just how many other guys feet have you seen?"

She laughed. "Plenty during pool party season. Not that many under other circumstances."

He knew he shouldn't feel relieved, but he did, and he hated himself for the weakness. He didn't want to care about this girl.

"Oh, shit," she blurted out.

He looked over to see that a glop of cheese had landed on her dress, just above her breast.

He silently handed her a paper towel.

"Way to plan ahead," she quipped.

"I'm nothing if not thorough," he replied. "I could get that off for you. Full service and all that."

She wiped the cheese away, wadded up the paper towel and threw it on the coffee table next to her feet. "Do you even realize that you just made a normal guy joke?"

She looked over at him when he didn't reply. Then she smiled. "I guess you do. Your cheek's as red as your pepperoni."

"I'm sorry," he said, wanting to die. What had made him say something so stupid, so…ugh? Now she would think him a monster if she hadn't before.

"Oh, don't apologize. I just complimented your feet. Which one of us sounded stupider?"

"More stupid," he corrected.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her pizza, so he did the same.

Before reaching for her next piece, she grabbed the tv remote. "What do you want to watch?" she asked. "Do you only like things with explosions and girls running around in short tops?"

"Wow. Stereotype much?"

She laughed. "Careful. You're starting to sound like me."

He widened his eyes in mock horror. "Time to go."

"Oh, no, Mr. Not A Typical Guy – we're watching _The Princess Bride_."

"_The Princess Bride_?"

"It's a classic," she replied, using the remote to turn on the tv and then the dvd player. She navigated to the first disc in the changer and hit 'play'.

"You watch this a lot?" he asked.

"I told you. It's a classic."

He just looked at her.

"I can feel your dread from over here," she said, not looking at him. "Just relax and enjoy."

"Those sound like famous last words."

"And they should be your last words," she said. "Shh. It's starting. Eat your pizza."

She leaned over to the wall to turn the lights down, and Erik reached for another piece of pepperoni.

To his eternal surprise, _The Princess Bride_ wasn't that bad. He could appreciate its over the top humor.

They only ate about half the pizza, and at some point Buffy had closed the lid over the rest. They lay still, watching the credits roll, and Erik checked his watch. It was only a little after eight. It was probably just getting dark outside. Should he go?

"Now it's your turn," she said, grabbing the remote up from the table. "Guest's choice. We have pretty much everything – either on disc or over the web. Pick your poison."

"Can it have explosions and girls in skimpy tops?" he asked.

She harrumphed, but said nothing.

"Okay. How about _Star Wars_ – the first one. I haven't seen that in ages. And it's not the one with Leia in the bikini, so you don't have to worry."

"Me, worry about Princess Leia? Not. Princess Buffy is way hotter."

He wanted to rush to agree, but just grinned at her instead. "A healthy ego is a good thing, I guess."

"It's essential," she replied. "I don't know how I'd have gotten through three years of high school without it."

She stopped pushing buttons and the black screen faded into the scrolling, yellow text that introduced the beginning of the movie.

"I'm tired of sitting like this," she declared, grabbing the pillow from her end of the couch.

Before he could think of a response, she'd thrown it over into his lap and was stretching out to rest her head on it.

"Is this okay?"

He couldn't draw breath to answer her.

"Are you speechless or offended?" she asked after a quiet moment.

"Speechless," he finally managed to choke out.

"Good," she said. "It does a girl's ego good to leave a guy speechless."

"I don't know why you're practicing on me," he said, regaining his sensibilities. "You can certainly leave better guys speechless."

"Oh, be quiet," she chided. "I want to see the movie. I hear its good."

Now he really was speechless. "You've never seen _Star Wars_?"

"Spaceships and swordfights, right? Nope, it hasn't made the list."

"Ugh. _This_ is a classic."

She looked unmoved.

"Oh, come on," he insisted. "It has a princess. At least give it a chance."

Buffy laughed. "You've got me there. I'll give it a try."

"Try not," he said. "Do or do not. There is no try."

She turned her head to look up at him. "Did you really just quote a muppet to me?"

Erik felt his jaw drop. "Yoda is not a muppet."

"Muppet, puppet – what's the difference?"

He took her head gently in his hands and tilted it back toward the screen. "Just watch the movie," he said. "Before you say something you'll regret."

She obeyed, moving one of her hands from the pillow to rest on his knee.

He just sighed and leaned back. Maybe she knew what she was doing to him. If so, he couldn't figure it. But for the moment, he wasn't going to try.

Nor did he try to figure it when he dropped his arm from the back of the sofa and put his hand gently on her bare shoulder. She shuddered, and he drew his hand quickly back. What had he been thinking? How could she feel anything but repulsed?

"I'm sorry," he said.

She turned to look up at him. "Why?"

"For touching you. I shouldn't have."

"You don't have to apologize for putting your hand on my arm, Erik. In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of laying in your lap."

Her words flew around his brain in a scattered muddle, and he tried to make sense of what she was telling him.

He put his hand back to her skin, and she didn't draw away.

"But…but, I thought…I mean…you shuddered away." God, he sounded like an idiot, he thought.

"I just shivered," she said. "It wasn't to get away from you."

"Oh." His brain didn't know what to make of that. "Do you want me to get you a blanket from somewhere? It is cool in here."

For a long time she didn't say anything, and he assumed she'd gotten into the movie. He was just enjoying the feel of her so close to him. Her skin felt like silk under his fingers, and he thought that if life had no more joy for him, he might still be able to die a happy man.

"Have you ever touched a girl before, Erik?"

So much for her being into the movie, he thought.

He slowly ran his hand from her shoulder down to the tips of her fingers. "No," he said. "Touch is a very uncommon thing for me."

She didn't say anything, and he returned his hand to its spot on her tanned shoulder. They passed the rest of the movie in silence, and only when the credits began to roll did he notice she was asleep.

Tears leapt to his eyes at the thought that this beautiful girl could be so at home with him as to fall asleep on his lap. She didn't fear or hate him, and he didn't know why.

Blinking back the burning salt, he gave her a gentle shake. "Buffy?"

Her eyes blinked open, and she turned to look at him. "Oh, god," she said. "Did I fall asleep?"

He nodded.

"So much for your classic," she said, sitting up. "What a snoozer."

Her hair was a little mussed, and he reached out to smooth it down. Her hands came up and brushed his away. "I must look a mess if you're trying to fix my hair."

"Not at all," he said hurriedly. "You look great."

"So do you," she replied.

He winced, feeling the blow from her words. "Don't say things like that, Buffy, please. I know you're just teasing, but-"

"I wasn't teasing," she said, giving her hair a final shake and checking that her dress was properly arranged. "From this side you're a total hottie."

"I don't know what to say to you. You've given me more compliments in one afternoon than I've gotten in an entire lifetime. Why don't you see what everyone else sees?"

She shrugged. "I do see it. Your face isn't going anywhere. But it doesn't gross me out or anything."

He shook his head and stood up. "I have to get back," he said.

She frowned at him. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, of course not. I just need to get back."

She shrugged and rose to her feet, gesturing for him to precede her out of the room.

At the front door, he turned to face her. "I had a really nice time with you today, Buffy."

She smiled at him, suddenly seeming almost shy. "Would you like to come back tomorrow?"

Pain lanced through his heart, and he hung his head. "I can't," he said finally.

"Can't? You've got plans?"

He shook his head. "I just mean that I can't. Today has been probably the best day of my life, Buffy. Just let me have that. Just let me have that without any hurt or regrets. Today was a moment in time, and Monday things will go back to normal, but I'll have today, and I'll still be able to let you go. To watch you go about your day, talk to other guys and be a normal person. And it won't kill me."

She blinked, and he thought she might be about to cry.

"Thank you for today, Buffy," he said. "I don't know why you did it, but I'll always be grateful."

She frowned and stamped one foot. "I don't want you to be grateful. I want you to be here tomorrow afternoon."

He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, just barely touching them to her skin. "Thanks again, Buffy," he said.

She closed the door, and he walked down the drive to where he'd left his bike. He felt good, he thought. She'd given him that, and he could ask for no more.

Buffy threw out the rest of the pizza and then went upstairs to change into her pajamas, trying not to dwell on the fact that her feelings were hurt. When she stripped off her panties, she noticed a telltale glisten. He'd gotten her wet.

She wanted to deny it, but her eyes called her a liar. Did that make her some sort of a sick freak? He was right – he wasn't just a normal guy. She couldn't be attracted to him – could she?

She replayed the day in her head – from noticing his abs to touching his back to holding his hand to lying in his lap. God, she'd practically thrown herself at him.

Maybe she just needed sex. She and Thad had only done it a few times, and it wasn't like he'd rocked her world or anything, but maybe she was just overdue. That had to be it. She needed a date. A nice, normal date.

Erik didn't even make it home before he was missing her. He felt miserable. Like he'd left sunlight behind. And he had. Outside it was cold and dark, and that was where he belonged. In the dark, not basking in the warm glow of a girl like Buffy Summers. Even her name sounded warm.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Buffy caught her breath when she looked through the peephole. Erik had come back.

She opened the door slowly and looked at him. He was breathing heavy – she guessed from the bike ride over. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and he was back to his usual faded Levi's. The mask was there, of course, but it faded into the background as his blue eyes burned into her.

"I thought you weren't coming," she said finally.

"So did I," he replied.

"What changed your mind?"

He gave her a lopsided smile. "You did. You've been in my head since I left here."

"And what was I saying?"

He shrugged. "That I shouldn't be such a coward."

"So you just decided to say 'what the hell'?"

He nodded. "Pretty much."

She looked at him. "You're terrified of me, aren't you?"

He hesitated. "It should be the other way around."

She shook her head. "I'm definitely not afraid of you." She didn't know what she was feeling, but it certainly wasn't fear.

Reaching out to grab his hand, she pulled him inside. "Come on," she said. "Do you know how to play pool?"

Erik watched in awe as his angel turned and led him through the living room. Today she had on jean shorts, a light blue tank top, and her hair was up in a perky ponytail. His eyes darted back and forth between their clasped hands and the delectable swish of her ass in those short shorts.

She let go of his hand when she slid the rec room door open.

"Wanna rack?" she asked, making her way to the stand of cues to pull out a pair.

He did as she asked, racking the balls and sliding them out to the little silver dot on the green felt table top.

She handed him a cue. "You can break."

"Uh. Sure," he said. "I haven't done this in a while."

"Don't worry. I'm no expert either. I just thought it might be fun."

"Here goes," he said, leaning over the table.

It was a clean break, and he called solids before taking his next shot. It was three shots later before he missed.

"I thought you weren't any good at this?" Buffy said.

"I said I hadn't played in a long time. I didn't say I wasn't any good."

Buffy pouted. "Is there anything you aren't good at?"

He shrugged. "I'm sure I could think of something. Eventually."

"It's not polite to brag," she informed him.

"Hey – you asked."

He could tell she was trying not to smile as she surveyed the table. Then she came to stand in front of him and bent over to line up her cue.

Erik felt his knees go weak as her shorts rode up to show him the globes of her ass. He noted that area was just as tan as the rest of her, and his mind immediately took him to an image of her lying naked out by the pool. He knew she heard his rush of breath.

Trying to pull his eyes away, he looked at the shot she was about to try. "Are you kidding?" he asked.

"Hey, you play your way and let me play mine."

When she predictably missed, he took two more shots before deciding to miss and give her another chance.

Once again, she bent over right in front of him, and he felt his heart start to hammer in his chest. He didn't know if he'd ever longed for anything the way he longed to touch her. And, god, so much more.

She missed again, and this time he did, too. He tried to tell himself it wasn't on purpose.

When she bent over in front of him again, he struggled to find speech. "Somebody should really teach you how to play this game," he told her.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Well, it certainly won't be you. Don't think I don't know how busy you are checking out my ass."

He coughed and felt himself start to blush.

She smiled. "It's okay. Has it occurred to you that growing up with a pool table in the house that I really do know how to play the game?"

He tried to process her meaning. "You mean…you mean you've been doing it on purpose?"

"Now he's getting it," she said, turning to face him.

His eyes were drawn to the outline of her breasts underneath the thin fabric of her shirt. He felt his eyes get wide as he raised them to meet her green gaze. It was playful, and he shook his head.

"You're evil," he said. "Pure evil."

"No," she said, dragging out the word. "Evil would be if I didn't intend to follow through."

He backed up until his back hit one of the square columns that lined the middle of the room.

She walked slowly, and he felt sure he was about to hyperventilate.

She stopped, but not until she was close enough that he could feel her breath on his lips.

"Do you want to kiss me, Erik?"

He was stunned into inaction, and she ran her finger lightly down his nose, hitting him on its tip. "Oh, no you don't," she informed him. "No thinking. You just have to kiss me."

"I…I do?" He knew he was stammering like an idiot.

She stood on her toes and leaned in closer to whisper to him. "Yes, because just having you here is getting me wet."

He closed his eyes. "Buffy."

Then he felt the lightest touch of her lips to his, and a bolt of desire froze him in place.

She tried again, more firmly this time. When he didn't respond, she leaned back, but reached out to touch him through his jeans.

"Well, I know you aren't really immune."

He shook his head. "No, I feel like I'm on fire."

"If you kiss me, it will only get worse," she said on a whisper. "Don't you want it to get worse."

He could only nod. "Do it again."

She obediently leaned forward and once again pressed her beautiful lips to his.

This time he sought to match her movements, and she gave a little moan and pressed her body fully against him.

Before his brain could short circuit, he released the fierce grip he had on the column and brought his hands around to rest on her hips.

When her tongue began to tease him, he willingly opened to her. Finding more nerve than he knew he possessed, he again matched her movements, allowing their tongues to touch and slide against each other. When she sucked gently on him, he knew what she meant about the fire getting worse.

After another moment, she moved back and put her hands on his chest. He didn't want to let her go.

"How was that for a first kiss?" she asked.

"Unbelievable," he choked out.

Then doubts began to assail him, and he hated himself for the question he was about to ask. "What is all this, Buffy? Is it just some sort of weird charity?"

"Oh, god," she said, moving her hand to run it gently down the unmarred side of his face. "Of course not. I hated it when you left yesterday and said you weren't coming back."

"Then you're glad to see me?"

"Isn't the fact that I'm pressed up against your erection proof enough of that?"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know what to think."

"Didn't I tell you not to think? That way lies madness."

He raised a brow at her. "Did you really just quote Shakespeare?"

She shrugged. "Did I?"

"We really have to discuss your study habits," he said, knowing he was smiling at her like a fool.

The ringing of the doorbell interrupted like a bucket of cold water.

Buffy jerked away from him. "I guess I'd better answer that."

She left him standing there, but he trailed after her, stopping at the doorway into the living room.

He saw her open the door and freeze.

"Julia," she said. "Amy. What are you doing here?"

He heard a girl's voice. "We came to check on you. You didn't show up to Mark's party last night."

"Oh," she said. "I…uh…had to help my mom at the gallery, and I was just really tired after.

"Oh. Well how about today? We're on our way to the beach. Get your stuff and come with us."

Buffy hesitated. "Sorry. I can't. I promised mom I'd clean my room. Her anger finally reached critical mass."

He didn't hear the reply, but it was only a few moments before Buffy shut the door. She leaned against it for a moment, but straightened when she looked up and saw him standing there.

"I guess you heard all that."

He nodded, not bothering to try to sort out all the emotions careening around inside him. Some of them had sharp edges.

"If it's any consolation," she said, "I probably wouldn't have told them about any guy. Not any guy so…new."

"But you definitely won't tell them about me," he said with certainty, telling himself it was only what he'd known all along.

She looked at the floor. "I feel like Judas."

"Probably closer to Peter."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. It's okay."

She shook her head. "No, it's not. We both know that."

"No," he said. "It really is. I don't even know if I'd act differently in your place."

He took a step toward her. "Just tell me…tell me today was real."

She crossed the distance between them and put her arms around his waist. The she rested her head against his chest, and he returned the embrace.

"I like you, Erik. And I want to be everything I see in your eyes when you look at me. But I'm not strong enough."

She looked up at him. "You deserve better than me."

"There's no such thing, Buffy. You're the kindest person I've ever known."

He pulled away from her. "I should probably go."

He felt a stab of pain when he saw tears collect in her eyes.

"Okay," she said. "I'm sorry. This wasn't how I wanted today to go."

He nudged her chin to get her to look at him. "Today was a fantasy, Buffy. I'll always cherish it.

She shook her head. "You should hate me."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

He lowered his eyes when he saw her enter the room. Tight jeans and a sunny yellow top. She looked happy, and he felt his temper rise.

He'd told himself that he meant everything he'd said to her, but the deepest part of him was howling in pain and anger. He felt himself grip the desk as she made her way down the aisle across from him.

He jerked in surprise when another note landed on his desk.

_My mom doesn't get back until tomorrow afternoon._

His mind whirled, and he crumpled the paper in his fist.

He stood there, not knowing who he hated more – her or himself.

When she opened the door, he stepped inside and jerked her to him, not even bothering to say hello. His lips found hers, and he tightened his grip on her hips and ground his mouth against her. That fire he remembered flared within him, and he pushed his tongue into her mouth.

She didn't object; she clung to him and sucked his tongue further in.

He knew a moment of surprise that he felt like he knew exactly what to do. He knew how to kiss her, how to touch her, how to give her what she wanted. And right now, she wanted him.

He moved to trail kisses down her throat, stopping to suck gently on the skin where her neck met her shoulder.

"Erik," she said on a rush of breath. "I'm so glad you came."

His lips found her mouth again, silencing her, and his hands pulled up the hem of her shirt. He laid his palm flat against her hardened nipple and moved it in a slow circle against the lace of her bra. Then he reached in and cupped the weight of it in his hand.

He removed his hand over her moan of protest, and dragged her shirt over her head. She shook her hair, and he gave in to the impulse to run his hands through it. Even as he did, he knew it was a sensation he would never forget.

Buffy reached around and undid the clasp of her bra, dropping it to the floor.

He might have wanted to study it a moment more, but the sight of her had him bending down to take her in his mouth.

She shot her hands into his hair as his lips closed around her and his tongue began slaving against her flesh.

His hands moved to caress the taught skin of her abdomen, and he undid the button of her jeans.

"How about now, Buffy?" he asked, raising his head to look at her. Her mouth was open, and he wanted to kiss her again. "Is just having me here making you wet now?"

She nodded. "Always."

He knelt down, and she stepped obediently out of jeans and then her lacy black thong. He held her underwear to his face and breathed in the scent of her. His body strained against his jeans.

He stood up and took a step toward her, while she took a matching step back. When she was up against the wall of the living room, he pressed himself against her and kissed her hard. She met his fire with her mouth and a fierce grip on his shoulders, pulling him closer.

His hand found its way between her legs, and he moved his fingers into her wetness as she groaned under his tongue. His heart soared at how ready she was for him. He slipped a finger inside her, and she pulled her mouth from his.

"Erik, love me, hate me – right now I just need to you to fuck me. Please fuck me."

Her words almost undid him.

Her hands were at the buttons of his jeans before he could move. When she freed him, she stroked down his length, breathing hard. She pushed his jeans further down and wrapped one leg around his hip.

He grabbed her slight form and lifted her up, leaning them both into the wall. Then he looked at her, and she nodded, and guided him inside, letting herself sink down onto him.

He gulped and watched as her eyes closed and she took a deep, shuddering breath.

Heat was all around him, and he wanted to burn alive. He leaned down and took her other nipple into his mouth as he started to move inside her. It was too much, he thought, taking a moment just to rest his head on her chest. He could see where they were joined together, what it looked like when he thrust inside her, and he thought it was the most arousing thing he'd ever seen.

He groaned and pushed into her, needing her more, needing to push harder, to be closer.

"You feel so good," she gasped. "You…god, you fit me. I can feel you everywhere."

He gave her another punishing thrust.

"Yes – more."

A surge of relief flooded through him at her implied permission, and he began to move the way he wanted – hard and fast.

Buffy was panting and moaning and thrashing her head along the wall. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, but words were beyond him.

He moved up to kiss her, and changed his motion to rub against her wet flesh. She moved one hand to grip his shoulder, and then jerked her head away with a cry.

He felt her arch her back and clench tight around him.

He went still until she looked up at him and breathed his name. Then he had to move again. She met his thrusts, looking at him all the while, and then she leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"Come for me, Erik."

He shuddered and ground his hips into her, his body giving her what she wanted as he panted out her name.

It seemed like forever before his breathing returned to normal. He kept his forehead bent against the wall, not looking at her.

She moved against him and slowly slid her legs to the floor. He moved back a fraction, but kept his one hand cupping her ass, not willing to give her up.

"Are you going to look at me?" she asked.

"Don't ask me to say I'm sorry."

He was shocked to hear her giggle, and he leaned back to see her face. She was standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a beaming smile, and he found himself wanting her all over again.

"I'm soooo not sorry," she said. "Why should you be?"

"I didn't exactly ask permission."

"You didn't need it. I think you've had it since you stripped down beside my pool."

Her smile disappeared. "Speaking of which. You are wearing way too many clothes. I want to be able to touch you this time."

"This time?"

"You know – about five minutes from now, up in my room, in an actual bed? Sound like fun?"

He grinned at her. "I can do that."

She crooked a brow at him in a wicked glance. "I mean you can."

"So, you really aren't mad?"

"I'm anything but mad." She grinned at him again. "I feel like I've made the most amazing discovery."

He chuckled. "That makes two of us."

She extended her hand, and he raked his gaze along her naked form.

"Come on," she said. "I feel the need for further exploration."

"Lead on, princess."

As of Monday night, leaving her bed was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. She'd made him promise not to move while she ran her hands all over him, touching him everywhere. She'd put her mouth on him, and then she'd ridden him until they both found their climax. And he'd held her after – and she'd let him.

But Tuesday morning, he again forced himself to look at the floor when she came into class, telling himself there was no 'us'. She wasn't his.

He heard her friend Amy ask her a question, and he took the chance to sneak a glance at her. Her pale hair hung down her back and he wanted to clench his fist in it and kiss her. He felt himself getting hard and forced his gaze onto the book in front of him. For once, he hadn't done the reading. Last night, he'd been too high – too high and too exhausted. And it had felt so good.

Today it felt like a burning knot in his stomach and along his spine. He wanted to hunch over and grab himself – to guard against the pain, but it was an irresistible force.

By the end of the hour, he was thanking the gods that he only had the one class with her. Looking at her was torturing him. But all day his thoughts returned to the fact that he could no longer touch her – not even talk to her. She was a princess, and he was a monster. And nothing would change that.

Buffy passed most of the day after first period in a daze. She'd felt him watching her all during class, and it had made her miserable. Miserable because she wanted him, and miserable because she hated herself for being such a coward. But she saw how the others treated him. No one looked at him, and if they did, they grimaced and looked away. She didn't want to be treated like that.

But she didn't want to give him up. For some reason, she didn't see what the others saw. To her, he was amazing.

By the time she got home from cheerleading practice, her mother's car was back in the garage.

She walked in the door from the garage to the kitchen, and her mom rushed to hug her. "Hi, sweetheart."

Buffy returned the embrace. "Hi, Mom. I'm glad you're back."

"I hope you're hungry," she said. "I'm making lasagna."

Buffy sighed. "Sounds great. I'll just go get a shower and change."

She crossed the room and almost made it out before she heard her mother's voice.

"Buffy Summers, what's wrong?"

She hung her head. "I'm just a wretched person. I've never really thought about it before, but I am."

"Buffy, what are you talking about?"

She turned around and let her bag drop to the floor.

"There's this boy."

"Buffy, you've met someone?"

She nodded. "He's new at school."

"So why does liking this boy make you a terrible person? I don't understand."

"Liking him maybe just makes me a little weird. It's not admitting it that makes me a terrible person."

She moved into the room and slumped down onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island. "You'd almost have to see him to understand. He's beautiful, except there's something wrong with one side of his face. Something he was born with. He wears a mask to cover it up, but you can still tell that it must be terrible."

She saw her mom start to frown. "A mask, Buffy?"

She nodded.

"And you like this boy?"

She nodded again. "He sits beside me in first period. At first, I think I just wanted to see him smile, you know? He seemed so alone. Then – don't be mad – I don't know what came over me. I invited him over here."

"Buffy!"

"I said not to be mad. You can ground me later."

Her mother dropped the hand that had gone to her hip.

"So he's here, and he's so nice, and he lives in an orphanage, and he's smart and he writes music…" She shrugged. "And he's got this great body."

"Are you sure you don't just feel sorry for him?" her mother asked.

She thought for a minute, but then shook her head. "I don't think I ever felt sorry for him. I wanted to get to know him. It's like I couldn't help myself."

"But now?"

"Now I'm being a total bitch and not talking to him at school. Like I don't even know him."

Her mother pulled out another bar stool and sat down. "It sounds like you have some decisions to make."

Buffy dropped her head into her hands. "I just can't face all my friends with him. They all treat him like he's some sort of monster."

"Why don't you invite him over for dinner?"

Buffy sat up. "I'd like to. I'd like you to meet him." She searched her mom's face. "But wouldn't that be leading him on? I know I've already hurt him. I don't want to keep doing it."

"I don't think you've made up your mind yet, so, if he's willing, I'd like you to invite him. I'd like to meet him and judge for myself if he's good enough for you."

Buffy laughed. "He's read like every book in the English language and wants to be an architect. If he were normal, he wouldn't even talk to me."

Her mom smiled. "You underestimate your gifts, Buffy. I'm sure this boy would agree."

"I'll have to sneak him a note to even ask him to come over."

She hopped down off the stool. "This is so humiliating."

"Isn't that precisely what you're worried about if you acknowledge your feelings?"

"Yeah. I'm just damned either way. Either I have to live through hell or I'm going to wind up there."

Her mother laughed. "You do have a flare for the melodramatic. Go suffer through a shower and then let's have dinner."


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Erik held his breath as he pressed his finger to the bell. He'd worn his new clothes again, and Ms. Grayson had let him borrow one of her husband's summer jackets. It was dark blue linen, and he thought it suited him.

As he stood there he found himself fervently hoping that Buffy had prepared her mother. He was terrified to see the look on her face. He knew it would come. It was inevitable, but he was terrified nonetheless.

Buffy opened the door, and at first she was all he saw. She had on a sleeveless lavender dress, and he wondered if she was trying to kill him. So much soft skin…

"Hi," she said, looking surprisingly shy.

Then he noticed the older woman standing behind her. She had a pleasant face and hair as golden as Buffy's only a few shades darker. She wore a cream colored pants suit.

"Hi, Buffy," he said. "Hi, Ms. Summers."

Buffy stood back, and he came in and offered his hand to her mother. She shook it without hesitation, and he never saw a shudder or a grimace.

Releasing his pent up breath, he looked at them. "You both look lovely," he said.

Buffy smiled at him. "Thank you."

"Erik," her mother said, "Buffy's told me something of your background, and I hope you feel welcome in our home."

He lowered his eyes to the floor. "As welcome as I've ever felt anywhere, Ms. Summers."

"Good."

She gestured down a hall Erik had never taken, and the door at the end opened into a smaller dining room than the one Buffy had shown him. It was set informally for three.

"Erik, you sit over there," Ms. Summers said, gesturing to the far chair, "and Buffy will come help me in the kitchen."

"Yes…thank you, Ms. Summers."

She smiled at him. "You can call me Joyce if you prefer."

"Ah…okay, Joyce."

He pulled out the chair and took his seat, trying not to imagine the nature of the conversation going on in the kitchen.

They returned sooner than he'd anticipated, each carrying a covered dish. Joyce put hers on the table and then returned with another. Lids came off to reveal roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans.

Both women took their seats, and Erik nervously raised a serving spoon and reached for Ms. Summers' plate. "May I?" he asked.

"Thank you, Erik," she said.

After that, dinner ran along a fairly normal course, and Erik finally began to relax.

"Buffy, would you check on the tarts?" her mother asked as they all finished eating.

Buffy got up, nodding, and made her way into the kitchen.

He met Joyce's gaze across the table, and waited.

"I think you know what you're asking of my daughter," she said.

Erik took a deep breath. "I'm not asking anything of her, Ms. Summers. She's already shown me more kindness than any other human being ever has. I know I'll have to be content with that. I ask no more. I know what it means to have this face."

He waited a long time for her response.

"Give her some time, Erik. Buffy might surprise you."

He was shaking his head when the girl in question rejoined them, and they all turned to their desserts.

"Mom," Buffy said, setting her fork aside. "You should let Erik play for you. He's fantastic."

Her mother turned to him. "I'd like that very much, Erik. Do you mind?"

"No, of course not. You have a fine piano."

They made their way to the formal dining room, leaving their dessert dishes behind.

When Joyce opened the door, Erik strode over to the piano bench and sat down.

"Would you care to sing, Joyce?" he asked. "Buffy mentioned you had a nice voice."

Buffy's mom shook her head. "I'm rather out of practice. Why don't you just play for us? Or do you sing?"

He smiled slightly. "I don't sing in public," he said. "Ever. But I'll sing for you."

He saw Joyce raise her eyebrows as he turned to the keys. He sat for a moment and heard them take seats in a couple of the chairs at angles to the piano. Buffy was somewhere behind him, but he could see Joyce to his right.

When he touched the keys, they disappeared, and it was him alone with the notes and tones. Their precision, their passion, their harmony overtook him as always. It was easy enough to pretend he was in the darkened church where he liked to practice. It was easy enough to open his mouth and blend the voice god had blessed him with into the melodies flowing forth from his fingers. Easy enough to forget the way he looked and bask in the glow of something beautiful.

When the song ended, he looked up, but he didn't stop playing. His hands wrung lilting little tunes out of the keys just because they didn't want to stop.

When he turned to look at Joyce, she had tears running down her face.

His fingers halted in mid-air. "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head. "That was a privilege, Erik. To hear you sing. You have a gift of great beauty."

He took a breath. "Ironic, no?"

"Why don't you ever let anyone hear you?" Buffy asked.

He slid around on the bench to look at her. Her eyes were wide, and she was looking at him like he meant something to her. He wanted that moment, he thought. Wanted it to last.

"My voice is as much of an anomaly as my face. I can only partially hide my face, but I don't have to share my voice with the world. The world certainly hasn't given me anything."

"Buffy and I are honored," Joyce said.

He felt suddenly self-conscious and looked at his watch. "I should get going," he said. "I still have homework to do."

Joyce stood and motioned him to precede her out of the room. He led the way back to the living room, and Joyce shook his hand again.

"It was very nice to meet you, Erik. I mean that."

"Thank you, Joyce. Thank you for making me feel welcome here."

She looked at him and then over at Buffy. "I'll just go clear the dessert dishes and let you two say goodnight."

When she'd left the room, Buffy came up to him and rather bashfully took his hand.

He raised a brow at her. "It's a little late to be shy."

"Thank you for doing this," she said. "I know you didn't want to."

He shook his head. "I'm honored you wanted me to meet her," he said. "And I can see where you get it from. She's a great lady."

Buffy smiled. "Yes, she is."

"And her opinion means a lot to you."

"She loved you," Buffy said.

Erik raised her hand and softly brushed his lips against it. "Buffy, no mother wants this for her daughter." He gestured at his face. "I'm just glad she was nice to me."

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked.

"As always," he said.

"So?" Buffy said, flouncing into the kitchen. "You see my problem."

"I do," her mother said, bending over to put plates in the dishwasher. "He's a fine young man, but he's had a hard life, and most likely he will always have. You have to really think whether you want to involve yourself in that."

"I don't know what to do, Mom."

"And you have to consider him, Buffy. Maybe you were right and having him here was not the best thing. Maybe the best thing is not to give him false hope."

"I don't want to give him false hope. I want to give him real hope."

Her mother turned and smiled at her. "You really like him, don't you?"

"I really do."

"Have you thought about what might be under the mask?"

Buffy shrugged. "Not really. The mask doesn't bother me, why should his face? I think I'd kind of like to see it, actually. It's a little strange talking to half a mask all the time."

"Why don't you just give it some time, then? You haven't known him very long at all. He should understand that."

"And what? Keep seeing him in secret?"

"I don't mind if he comes here." She frowned. "No more than twice on school nights, though, and he has to be gone by ten."

Buffy fought back a grin. "And weekends?"

"I suppose one o'clock would be alright."

She rushed to her mother and threw her arms around her. "Thanks, Mom. Thanks for understanding."

Her mom sighed. "I hope I understand. I hope this doesn't all go wrong."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Friday went by in a blur because of the pep rally and the ball game, but Buffy made it her first priority to invite Erik over. He hadn't said anything of course, but he'd flashed her a big smile as she left class.

Saturday she'd had to go out clubbing with Amy and Julia because she felt like she had to keep up appearances. Of course, Alissa had joined them and then proceeded to make snide comments all night about anyone who passed by. Buffy soon got bored of her constant criticisms and made her way out onto the dance floor. Amy soon joined her, rolling her eyes in Alissa's direction.

Buffy nodded and let the music carry her away. Until two guys shoved their way in between them. Davis and his teammate, Mark Gage. Davis was almost grinding up against her, and Mark was doing the same to Amy. Buffy had to force down a gag.

The music was so loud, and Davis was so intent on her tits that he couldn't see or hear her. She tapped him on the chest and shook her head when he looked up at her. She pointed back to her table and left him standing there.

Grabbing her jacket, she waved goodbye to Alissa and drove herself home.

It was only the thought of seeing Erik the next day that put her in better spirits.

And now he was here, she thought, jerking open the front door.

She grinned at him, grabbed his hand and pulled him inside, then threw herself against him and crushed her lips to his.

He stood still for a long moment before kissing her back and pulling her tight against him.

"Your mom's not here?" he gasped out when Buffy let him go.

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "She made up some excuse about having to do books at the gallery. Said she probably wouldn't be back until ten."

She saw his eyes light up. "Your mom is some kind of cool lady."

Buffy shrugged. "She wants us to figure things out."

"You mean she wants you to figure things out. I'm pretty figured already."

Buffy stepped back and looked at him. "Are you?"

He moved forward and took her hand. "Of course. How could I not be?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

He looked suddenly worried. "Anything."

"If the other side of your face looked like this one…" She stroked her hand down his smooth cheek. "Would you still want to date me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean…I'm not really your kind of girl."

"There is no my kind of girl."

"But there would be – if..well, if you were normal."

"I don't get what you're asking, Buffy. Do you think I don't want you?"

"I just want you to be sure you like me because you actually like Buffy, not just because I'm nice to you when no one else is. If everyone liked you, would you still pick me?"

He laughed and pulled her to him in a hug. "Are you really insecure about _me_?" he asked. "I don't know whether to be shocked or insulted. I think I'm a little bit of both."

"But you know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean. You think I might prefer that daft bird Amy or that witch Alissa? Why do you hang out with them, by the way?"

"So not the question right now," she said, leaning back and playfully punching him in the chest. "What about Camille? She's pretty and she's super smart."

"The girl who wears that pink sweater around her neck every day?"

Buffy nodded.

"She looks boring," he said. "And I'm sure she has perfect diction, and how much fun would that be?"

"You're not being serious."

"No, because you're being ridiculous. I have no experience with girls, but I do know who I like and who I don't. And no other girl can hold a candle to you, Buffy."

He pulled her chin up so she had to look at him. "You're my golden girl. I don't see anyone but you, and nothing would change that."

She let out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad."

"Whatever made you ask such a silly question?"

"I don't know. I just…I just needed to be sure. I mean I've only known you two weeks, and I've already fucked you twice and introduced you to my mom."

He hugged her again. "And you can't possibly know what all of that means to me."

"Good, because it means something to me."

"And here I thought you only wanted me for my body."

She drew back and punched him again, harder this time.

"Watch the merchandise," he told her. "I trust you want me to be able to service you later, princess."

She rolled her eyes. "No, silly. I want you to service me now."

She gave a shriek when he bent down and lifted her off her feet and into his arms. He took the stairs two at a time and kicked open the door to her room. Then he came to a sudden stop and put her on her feet.

"Oh, my god," he said, looking around. "You cleaned."

"See, I really do like you," she said.

"I'm starting to believe you. This must have taken all weekend." He looked at her closed closet doors. "Where did you even put it all?"

"Well, don't even think of opening them. Not if you value your life."

He laughed, and she looked up at him, ogling his perfect mouth. "So can we have sex now, or do you want me to beg?"

He looked down at her, trapping her with blazing blue eyes. "You mean there might be begging involved?" he asked softly.

"If you play your cards right, anything could happen." _I could fall in love with you._ She buried that thought as soon as it surfaced. Loving him wasn't something she was ready to face yet.

"Let me undress you?" he asked.

She nodded her consent, and he surprised her by coming to stand behind her. His hands went to the bottom of her tank top and pulled it free of the waistband of her jeans. Then he tugged it smoothly up her arms and over her head. He let it fall silently to the floor.

"You're making a mess," she pointed out.

"And you're going to beg me for it," he said, moving aside the curtain of her hair to place a kiss at the nape of her neck.

Buffy felt desire flow from his lips to the very center of her, and she wondered again why this boy had such an effect on her – why he made her feel so very much.

Letting her hair fall back, he skimmed his hands along her shoulders and down her arms. He intertwined his fingers in hers and put a kiss on the top of her head. "You're so cute," he said. "Sometimes I wish I could shrink you and just carry you around in my pocket."

"Okay…that's weird. And, really? Cute?"

His hands came around in front of her to cup her bare breasts. "And dead sexy," he added, stroking his thumbs across her nipples.

She leaned her head back and he answered her silent request by raining kisses along her neck. Then he licked all the way up her neck and bit her gently on her earlobe. "Shit," she exclaimed. "Where'd you learn that?"

"If you had any idea of the number and variety of things I've imagined doing to you," he said, "you'd run screaming in the other direction."

"So you think about me?"

"You have no idea."

"I think about you."

He was running his hands across her breasts again – over, under, around – like he was trying to memorize their shape and feel. "What do you think about me?" he asked.

She whimpered when he suddenly took his hands away. But then he was pulling her hair to one side and touching light kisses along her neck and down her spine. When he got to the barrier of her jeans, he got to his knees and reached around in front of her to unbutton and unzip. He pulled them partially down and began to kiss her on the ass, but he interspersed the kisses with gentle, teasing bites.

"I asked you what you thought about when you thought of me," he reminded her.

"I think of your hands," she said. "Your beautiful musician's hands. I think of them touching me. I think of them soft – and I think of them hard, possessive – like that first time." She shuddered. "You have no idea how often I think of that first time."

"Good," he said. "I want you to think of me making you mine."

"Yes," she breathed.

"I'm going to make you mine again," he said, pulling her jeans all the way down.

She stepped out of them, and he tossed them to the side and ran his hands down the outside of her legs.

"I love these little thongs," he said, moving his hand back up to run a finger underneath a tiny scrap of cloth. Then both hands grabbed at their sides and tugged the fabric down to her feet. "I love them even better on the floor."

She let his voice wash over her, glad he was finding he liked to talk to her during sex. His voice made her positively tingle.

Still on his knees, he moved around in front of her and grabbed her hips. She let her hands fall to his hair as he began to kiss her stomach and then down lower.

"Lay down," he instructed.

She backed over to the bed and scooted up to her pillow. He climbed up after her, and she parted her legs for him.

She got nervous when he just sat back on his heels looking at her.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He raised his brows. "Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm in bed with the most beautiful girl in the world."

That won him a smile, which he promptly returned.

Then he leaned down and kissed her – there – so deeply and so thoroughly, she wanted to cry when he lifted his head.

"Did you like that, my Buffy?"

She nodded vigorously.

"Cat got your tongue?"

He leaned down again and slid a finger inside her while his tongue made long, slow strokes.

"Are you always wet for me?" he asked.

"Always," she breathed, willing him to continue.

"My sweet Buffy." His tongue left a trail of fire in its wake, and when it settled on the spot that made her mewl with pleasure, she lifted her hips off the bed to meet him.

He slid another finger inside her and lifted both of them to stroke upward. The sensation made her groan and gasp for air.

"Oh, my god," she said. "Do that again."

He obliged, and simultaneously sucked her clit between his lips.

"Erik!"

The rest of her cries were guttural nonsense as she bucked against him and thrashed her hands into his hair. He didn't stop stroking her until she was breathing normally again, and even then, she mourned the loss.

"Have you been taking lessons or what?" she demanded.

He chuckled. "I did tell you I read – a lot."

"You read about this?"

"I read about everything."

"Damn. I knew there was some reason I should be a better student."

"You can be the student now."

She looked up at him.

"Touch me," he said softly. "The way you did the other night. Like you were learning to love me."

She reached up and began undoing his shirt buttons, only too happy to oblige. It had been too long since she'd been able to look at him. She wanted to see him on top of her, moving inside her.

His shirt hit the floor somewhere near her jeans, and she ran her hands over his arms and chest, trying to memorize every lovely plane and indentation. Every stretch and curve. She smiled to think of it as hers. She lavished similar attention down his back as he moved over her. She knew his scars were there, but they didn't figure in her calculation of his beauty. She wrapped her legs around him and kissed the soft flesh where the column of his neck met his shoulder.

Very consciously, she gripped him tighter and sucked harder on his skin. She heard him groan out her name.

"I want to mark you," she said. "No one will see it."

"I'll see it," he said. "Mark me all you want. I'm yours."

She licked gently over the already reddening skin and then sucked hard on it once more, feeling him release a shuddering breath.

When she ran her finger over the mark, it gave her a possessive thrill.  
"Pants," she said, looking up at him. "Off."

He was only to quick to oblige and came back over her urgent and naked, his eyes burning with a fire she wanted to be the only one to ever see.

"I've wanted to see you like this," she confessed. "On top of me."

He rested on one arm and stroked his thumb across her clit. "Look down," he said.

She watched him guide himself to her and push ever so slowly inside. His white flesh against her golden. It reminded her oddly of angels, and she pulled him down for a long, slow kiss.

He lifted his head, breathless, and regarded her curiously. "That felt…different."

She fanned her hands out across the hard planes of his back, but he stilled his motion.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"I think you're so beautiful," she said. "You take my breath away."

She saw him close his eyes and felt him push deep into her. "Buffy. I don't know what to say to that. I don't know how it can be true."

"Your eyes burn into me." She raked her fingers across his mouth. "Your lips are perfect, and you kiss me like you need me in your very soul. I've never been kissed like that. I've never felt like you make me feel."

She ran her hands down his shoulders. "From here I can see every flexing motion of every beautiful muscle when you move inside me. You're so white, so angelic. You're like a statue come to life just to love me."

He sped up his thrusts as she spoke.

"And you have hands that work magic everywhere they touch. Every piano key – every part of me."

He leaned down and silenced her with a kiss so tender she thought she might die from the sheer exquisiteness of it.

"You don't know what you do to me, Buffy."

"Touch me, Erik?"

He again leaned on one arm and brought the other between them to circle his thumb around her most sensitive flesh.

"Yes," she breathed.

He kept his motions slow and deliberate, and she stayed with him, wanting to make the moment last. At some point, desire forced her to close her eyes and arch into him.

"Erik," she groaned. "Please."

"God, yes," he answered, thrusting into her in time to the motion of his hand.

When the wave crashed over her and subsided, she had to fight the urge to cry. She hid her head in the crook of his shoulder as he pushed into her and shuddered out his own release.

It was a long time before either of them moved or spoke.

Erik moved just enough to shift his weight, and Buffy moaned against the sensation of him moving inside her.

"Down girl," he said.

She smiled, keeping her eyes closed. "Not a chance."

"I want to say so many things to you," he said. "But I think you know."

She opened her eyes and nodded. "I'm afraid."

"I know." He broke away and moved to lie beside her. "But you don't have to be afraid of me. I want you to know that. No matter what happens – however this ends – I won't mess things up for you. I'll keep our secret."

"Even if I hurt you?"

He was silent a long time. "Even when you hurt me."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

The days had settled into a tortuous sort of routine, he thought, slinking down in his seat to watch with hooded eyes as Buffy approached her desk. This was the hardest part – where he was so close to her but not allowed to touch, not even to look. The rest of the day, he was twisted back and forth between the desire to avoid her and the desire to seek her out.

It had been two weeks since they'd started their official secret dating. They'd only made love once – on the living room floor – because Buffy was reluctant when her mother was at home. But he liked the other things they did – he liked watching tv with her, going through the drive-thru for milkshakes, helping her with the next day's reading assignment. Nevertheless, he let his eyes linger on her as she sat down.

He needed her. He needed the assurance he felt when they made love. She was always there in the moment with him – so vibrant, so…his.

But he'd made her a promise, and he forced himself to drag his eyes to Ms. Hardaway at the front of the room.

The one thing he'd been doing differently was eating lunch in the cafeteria. He sat alone, out of the way, but some part of him felt he should be there in case Buffy needed him. What she could possibly need from him, he couldn't imagine.

He was dumping his tray over one of the five gray garbage cans at the cafeteria exit when he caught their conversation. It was Davis and three other guys from the football team, all wearing matching red jackets.

He made himself busy ignoring them until he heard her name.

"Are you okay with that?" one of the others asked Davis.

"What? If you make a play for Buffy? Go for it."

"Maybe Mark will have better luck than you," one of the others chimed in.

"Oh, I've never seriously been into Buffy," Davis said. "We just have a little thing."

"A little thing where she shoots you down all the time?" This was the guy named Mark.

"Well, see if you can do better, stud muffin."

They made a wide berth around him to get out of the cafeteria while he stood there staring after them, staring after their perfect faces, as a knot of jealousy and doubt rose and wove into a seething ball inside him.

He wasn't seeing Buffy tonight. She was cheering at the football game and then going to the after party at Davis' house. She'd done it before, and he'd never worried. But now the threat was tangible. The threat had a face.

All the lights in the big house were on when Erik ditched his bike against some bushes not far from where Buffy's car was parked. He looked at it, top down, gleaming white under the street lamp, and told himself he wasn't spying on her. Something inside him just had to know – did she flirt? Did she dance?

He wasn't sure he could even get in, but the front door was wide open, and none of the kids standing on the porch smoking gave him anything more than a funny look.

Inside, he followed the thud-thud of speakers until he came to the cavernous living room. All the furniture had been pushed against the walls to make a dance floor. At the other doorway, there was a line of students waiting to get to what he surmised must be the open keg.

He found a spot to stand next to an oversized sofa that put him more or less behind a floor lamp. His view was partially obstructed, but his mask wouldn't stand out.

He searched for Buffy and was relieved to see her standing across the room in a circle of her friends. She was wearing tight black pants, but just a loose white peasant shirt on top. Her hair was loose and long, and he watched it sway as she laughed.

He stood there for maybe an hour, feeling more and more foolish. Davis and Mark and their friends came and went. Once Mark had tried to put his arm around Buffy's shoulders, but she'd very quickly and very obviously stepped away. She'd danced a few songs with her friend Amy. He'd enjoyed watching her, but it was making him feel like a peeping tom.

He was about to sneak back the way he'd come when he noticed all her friends disperse. Some went to the dance floor, others to the beer line. Buffy was left standing there holding what looked like it was probably just a Coke.

For a moment, his heart ached that he couldn't go to her. His girl should never have to be alone.

Then he saw Davis come up to her. He reached behind her to gather up her hair in one hand and let it fall through his fingers. Buffy turned and swatted his hand away, but Davis didn't move back. Rather he reached out with one of his beefy arms and grabbed Buffy by the ass, dragging her to him.

Erik could see he was saying something to her and Buffy was shaking her head, but after that the whole scene went red. That asshole was touching his girl. And before he could consider the consequences, he found himself across the room standing behind the huge linebacker.

"If you don't get your hand off her," he said into Davis' ear, "I'll cut it off and make you eat it."

Davis jerked around and looked at him with wide eyes. "What the fuck?" he yelled. "Get away from me."

Erik didn't move. "Buffy obviously wants nothing to do with you," he said, "so you should keep your hands off her ass."

Davis grabbed him by his shirt collar, lifted him off his feet, and threw him into the nearest wall.

It was sheer fury that made Erik get up without wincing. "Fuck you," he ground out.

Davis grabbed him again and started dragging him toward the front door.

He heard Buffy call out his name, but he couldn't see her. Davis had his huge arm around his neck, making it hard for him to breathe. He could see bodies around them moving out of the way and trailing behind.

At the front door, Davis jerked Erik around in front of him and punched him hard across the good side of his face. Erik reeled backwards, falling in the dirt at the bottom of the porch.

"That was for my car, you fucking freak," Davis yelled.

Erik got up. "Yeah, that was quite a fireball."

"You little shit." Davis had bounded down the stairs and was standing in front of Erik, breathing hard. "You don't have the right to talk to me. I don't want you to even look at me. You're a goddamned freak of nature."

"And you're a giant asshole who won't let girls give him no for an answer."

"Buffy is my business, and when I go back inside I'm going to put my hands on her tight little ass and there ain't shit you're going to do about it."

Erik reached into his back pocket and pulled out the knife, flicking it open in front of him. He wasn't often without it, but he'd never had to use it before. "No, you're not," he told Davis.

"Damn, you're stupid." Davis let out a roar and charged him.

It was all over in a second, but Erik had been just that fraction faster, sidestepping the powerful charge and arching the knife up and across.

They turned at the same time, but now Davis had his hand over his left cheek, and blood streamed between his fingers.

"You! You fucking cut me!"

"Yeah," Erik said, wiping the knife on his pants and putting it away. "That may leave a scar."

He saw Davis' eyes get wide, and start looking around at the crowd of people that had gathered to watch.

"Mark!" he called out.

Erik saw a red jacket moving forward.

"Come on, man. You've got to drive me to the emergency room."

Davis ran over to his friend, bent at the waist and clutching his cheek.

Erik turned around when he heard a single person begin to clap.

Buffy.

As he stood watching her, a few others began to clap as well – then, a few more.

About a third of the people in the crowd were clapping, and they were clapping for him.

He looked at Buffy again and held out his hand to her, watching as an emotion he was afraid to name replaced the fear in her eyes and she stepped forward to place her hand in his.

They walked that way down the drive, with him slightly in the lead. When they got to her car, she let go of him to reach into her little wrist purse and toss him the keys.

"Wherever you want to go," she said.

He nodded, held the door open for her, and then hefted his bike into the back seat.

Buffy was surprised when they pulled into the dark parking lot of a white, wooden church. She looked questioningly over at Erik, but all he said was, "It's open".

She followed him inside, and he turned to look at her about halfway down the aisle.

"Do you mind just waiting?" he asked.

She shook her head and slipped into a pew.

Erik kept walking and took a seat at the piano on one side of the raised stage at the front of the sanctuary.

Moonlight streamed in through the stained glass windows, giving the place an other-worldly feel.

As Erik began to play, Buffy let herself relax and sit back.

Not that what he was playing was relaxing. Quite the opposite – he pounded out chords in a fury. The piano took the beating and gave back the dissonant music he seemed to be seeking.

When the music changed, she looked up to see that he had changed as well. Now he played the way he'd played the last time at her house, with his whole body in graceful, fluid movements.

But then his movements stilled, and the vibrant melody became a lament. She felt sorrow take root in her soul, and she grieved because she didn't know what was wrong or how to help him.

It was almost an hour before he stopped playing, and Buffy watched him slump over as if trying to sink in on himself.

Quietly, she got up and walked to the front of the church and came around to stand behind him. She put her hands on his shoulders, and then bent over to lace them together in front of him.

He clutched her hands in his. "I'm so sorry," he said. He leaned his head against her arm. "I made you a promise, and tonight I broke it."

"Erik," she said, "I'm so glad that you're mine."

He took a deep breath. "I don't understand."

"Everything you did tonight was fine. Call it forgiveness if you feel you need it, but I don't."

"You're really not mad?"

"I'm not mad."

"But I reached out to you – like I had a right to."

"You had every right." She kissed him on the cheek. "I'll always be there when you reach for me."


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Conversations stopped all around him as he made his way into the building Monday morning.

He'd been at Buffy's all weekend, but he'd been a nervous wreck. She'd hovered around him like a butterfly, but he'd refused to let her in. He couldn't bring himself to believe her choice.

When he'd left her at her doorway last night with only the briefest of kisses, she'd basically ordered him to meet her at her locker this morning.

So that's where he was heading. He had everything he needed in his backpack, so he turned left inside the double doors and looked for her golden head.

When he saw her, he came to stand silently beside her, unable to return her beaming smile. It broke his heart, knowing she had no idea what this was going to be like.

But he didn't object when she took his hand and led him to their first period class. He pulled away from her as they entered, and he watched her scoot down the aisle in front of him and slip around into her seat.

Amy was already in her seat in front of Buffy, and she turned around to look first at him and then at her friend.

"Just how long has this been going on?" he heard her ask.

Buffy shrugged. "Basically since school started."

Amy looked at him again and just turned around in her seat without saying more.

At lunch, Erik felt his heart lurch when he saw Buffy standing outside the cafeteria doors, waiting for him.

He followed her lead, his heart pounding in his chest when he saw she meant to sit at the table with her friends.

She didn't try to join them, just put her try down at the other end of their table and motioned for him to do the same.

As he did, Alissa and Amy picked up their trays and moved three tables over.

Julia sat staring after them, but then picked up her tray as well, shocking Erik when she plopped it down beside him.

"Can I join you?" she asked.

Buffy smiled at her – and it was just friendship, not relief or gratitude. "Of course."

Julia sat down and put her hand out to him. "I'm Julia," she said.

He shook her hand, sure his eyes were wide as saucers. "Erik," he replied.

"It's nice to meet you, Erik."

Buffy nodded over her shoulder at the other two girls. "Think they'll ever come around?"

Julia shrugged. "I don't know. It's going to take a lot of people some time to get used to the idea." She looked over at him. "No offense."

He smiled at her. "None taken."

"But you're okay with it?" Buffy asked.

Julia smiled. "Are you kidding? That was like the most romantic thing I've ever seen. Like Beauty and the Beast or something." She winced and looked at him again. "No offense."

He laughed at her and gave an uncaring shrug.

"And my little brother is now your biggest fan," she told him.

He raised his brows. "My what?"

"He's a sophomore, but he plays on the starting football team, and Davis and those guys are forever giving him a hard time. Half the time, he comes home all bruised up because they've ganged up on him during or after practice. He forbid me to tell my parents, of course. I mean, he wanted to fit in, right?"

"What's that got to do with me?"

"Well, you stood up to Davis. You've blown up his car and slashed open the side of his face. He thinks you're like some masked comic book hero."

Buffy reached out and patted his hand. "See honey, you're a hero."

By the end of the day, the knots of worry in Erik's stomach were starting to unclench. Some people had avoided them, but no one had said anything to Buffy that he would have had to kill them for. And other people seemed totally fine with it.

A few had even stopped to introduce themselves to him before classes or in the hall.

"Put your bike in my car," Buffy said as they headed to the parking lot.

"Don't you have cheerleading practice?" he asked.

"I'm playing hooky to go home and have wild monkey sex with my boyfriend."

He gulped. Sex. Boyfriend. "You're talking about me, right?" he asked.

"Come on," she said, laughing. "My mom won't be home for another three hours."

He was kissing her before she could get the door open.

Kicking it shut behind him, he grabbed the strap of her bag and dropped it to the floor, never taking his lips from hers.

Then his hands were on her – everywhere. He couldn't get enough of touching her, of feeling her solid and real underneath his fingers. Not a fantasy. Not something he'd had to dream up because she'd rejected him after all. No, it was Buffy. His Buffy.

He felt her hands go to the bottom of his shirt, and he raced to help her, wanting her hands on his body.

Then she was touching him, and he pulled her close, devouring her with his mouth and tongue.

Underneath her shirt, he grabbed hard at her breasts, and Buffy moaned into his mouth. He wanted to be gentle with her, but he burned with need.

"Fuck, Buffy," he said, into the space he'd made between their lips. "I need you so much. Don't make me wait. Tell me you need me, too."

She gulped and nodded. "Upstairs. Now."

She turned and ran for her bedroom, leaving him open-mouthed with surprise. But then the thought of catching her clicked into his mind, and he raced up after her.

She was bent over pulling off her jeans when he got to her door, her perfect ass teasing him to rock-hardness.

"I know you have skirts," he said, moving to push himself against her as she stood up. "I want you to start wearing them."

"What – you don't like looking at my ass in tight jeans?"

He pulled the ass in question tighter against him. "There is that."

"I know how hard today was for you," she said, looking at him over her shoulder.

"I was just worried how hard it would be for you."

She shrugged. "I'm used to being the center of attention, but I know you prefer not to be seen."

"I don't mind being seen when I'm with you. At least, I won't after today." He shuddered. "I was so worried."

She turned to face him. "I know. It was sweet."

He looked down at her. "But half your friends aren't speaking to you."

"Well, we've discussed the quality of said friends before, so no great loss. And, hey, half the school thinks I'm dating a super hero."

"And the other half, a knife-wielding maniac."

She giggled. "Gives you an air of danger."

Reaching down to stroke him through his pants, she leaned up and licked the side of his neck, making him tremble.

"Now are you going to put this inside me or not?"

He swatted her hand away and jerked his jeans and boxers to the floor. "On the bed, Buffy."

She got on all fours in front of him, and his mouth went dry. "Like that," he croaked.

She raised a brow at him from over her shoulder. "Daddy wants to do it from behind?"

He trembled at the thrill that went through him and got up on the bed behind her.

Jerking her thong down, he entered her in one swift motion. She grunted and arched her back as he thrust hard into her a second time.

Then he pulled her up and let his hands find her breasts, teasing them while he pumped inside her. "Touch yourself, Buffy," he commanded.

She leaned back against his chest and hurried to comply.

Grabbing her hips, he began to thrust unmercifully into her tight, wet body, and the world began to disappear. All his anger, all his fear – until there was nothing left but this beautiful girl who was taking him into her and making him a different person – the kind of person who could be loved. And who could love in return.

His body clenched along with his heart, and he wanted to pour out the words the way he poured himself into her. Her cry cut him off, and then she stole his words as she moaned out his name in a satisfied sigh.

"God, I'll never get tired of hearing that," he said.

She dropped down onto all fours, pushed back against him and did it again. "Erik…"

He felt himself harden within her. "Buffy."

"Something you need, baby?"

He pulled out of her just long enough to turn her around, and then he was back between her legs and inside her once again.

"I need this, Buffy," he groaned. "I need you, like this. I need to be this close to you."

"Is that what it takes for you to believe me?" she asked. "For me to be with you, screaming your name?"

He cracked a smile. "It helps."

"Then let me erase any doubts." She wrapped her legs tight around his waist and closed her eyes as he thrust deeper inside. "I love you, Erik March." She looked up at him. "I especially love you like this – on top of me, all hungry and possessive. But I'll take you all the other ways, too."

Erik didn't stop moving, but he dropped his head to rest it in the crook of her shoulder. "Say it again?"

"I love you."

He stopped moving, over her grunted objection, to slide down her body and lower himself between her legs. Then he gently sucked on her sensitive flesh, wringing moans from her beautiful mouth.

"Oh, god," she cried, thrashing her head against the pillows.

He lifted his head. "Say my name when you come, Buffy."

She nodded furiously, and in the next moment he got his wish.

Before she could come down, he was inside her again, losing himself, finding himself, losing himself once more. In a rush of need, he came into her and clutched her to him.

"You know I love you, Buffy. With all my heart. But please don't say that again."

"What?" She jerked away from him. "If, after the last few days, you don't believe I love you, then you are a complete moron."

"Buffy," he said softly, "you haven't seen my face."

He felt her relax. "That's what this is about?"

"It's not a face anyone has ever been able to love."

"Well, okay. How about I just love the rest of you and the face comes along for the ride?"

"You're not taking this seriously."

"No, you are taking it way too seriously."

He disentangled himself and got up and reached for his pants.

"Don't you dare put anything back on. The only thing you have to do is take off."

He shook his head. "I don't want to, Buffy."

"I don't care. I have the right to see you as you are."

He thought long and hard and decided he couldn't disagree. Even if it meant losing her. So he reached up and took off the mask, closing his eyes tight against her inevitable reaction.

Her words took him by surprise. "Get down on your knees. Keep your eyes closed."

Relieved she wasn't screaming in horror, he did as she asked.

He heard her approach and felt her warmth as she knelt down in front of him.

Then her fingers were on him, caressing the ridges and deep valleys of the scarred side of his face. Her lips followed, brushing lingering kisses in her fingers' wake.

Erik remained frozen, not even daring to breathe, but he felt tears sliding down his cheeks.

Buffy brushed them away and put her hands on both sides of his face to give him the tenderest of kisses.

"I was getting tired of the mask," she said. "I'm glad we're past it."

"Please don't say things you don't mean, Buffy."

"I never do."

He opened his eyes and looked into hers. And only love looked back.

His eighteenth birthday party was turning out rather well, he thought, standing in the open sliding door of the rec room. It was October, but still warm enough for swimming in Southern California. Buffy, Amy, and Julia sat together in a set of lounge chairs. Amy had finally come around and was back in their little group. Julia's little brother, Charles, and a couple of his friends cavorted in the pool.

Joyce had set up a table outside with pizza and cake, and there was music blaring from the speakers behind him.

"Erik," Joyce called to him.

He turned to see her standing in the doorway holding a small, wrapped box.

"This is for you," she said, coming to stand beside him.

He unwrapped it with tentative fingers, and inside was a single gold key.

"It's to the guest house," she said. "Now that you're of age, you can live wherever you want, and Buffy and I would very much like it if you came to live here."

He felt his eyes fill with tears and tried to blink them back. "Joyce…"

"Don't even think of refusing," she said. "It's yours until you go away to college – with the caveat that you help Buffy get her grades up enough to get into a decent school."

He picked up the key and clenched his fist around it, making certain it was real. "Yes, ma'am."

Joyce went back into the house, and he turned to see the love of his life, in his favorite red bikini, give him a saucy wink and mouth the three words he always thought he'd never hear.

And he smiled, because, for the first time in his life, he couldn't imagine anything better.

_fin_


End file.
